


An Assent to Decay

by symphorophilia (klismaphilia)



Series: Xenotranspeciation [3]
Category: Alien Series, Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Breeding, Cult worship, Hive Mind, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mental Disintegration, Mpreg, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Power Dynamics, Prophetic Visions, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/symphorophilia
Summary: After the revival of the Xenomorph hierarchy, Armitage Hux and the first variant of XX-121 begin their effort to once again assert the Hive as the dominant power within the galaxy.But not all is as it seems. In the unknown regions, far beyond the established galaxy, a rival power lays in wait until it may emerge once more to counter the Hive's might.





	An Assent to Decay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgerowhag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/gifts).



> recommended that 'odium, in revelation' is read prior to beginning this fic, as AATD will be a continuation of the events in that story.
> 
> for those of you who have been waiting-- it's back.

Darkness.

 

The presence of it is all-encompassing; lingering in the shadows of an ornate throne room, woven into blood-stained tapestries that line the walls of the grand hall. The room may have been beautiful, once; remnants of the former power which ruled over this hall can be seen in everything: a concave, splintered dais constructed of onyx and marble, the crumbling and broken high-arching columns still adorned with fragments of kyber crystals, framing either side of a regal walkway sunk into the floor. At the other end of the room stands a throne; high-backed and jet black, as abyssal as the unexplored regions of the galaxy…

 

It is, somehow, almost _divine,_ Rey thinks, even as she desperately tries to steel herself against the creeping unease that pollutes the air around her. The Force is _raw_ here, hissing and humming and singing with an untamed power, the cycle of life and death repeating endlessly in the span of a few moments. She dares, at long last, to step forward--

 

And suddenly, everything seems to vanish.

 

The throne room ceases to exist, replaced by a prison of _whiteness,_ stark and vacant and utterly impersonable. It feels _lifeless._ Frigid and demanding her attention, keeping her focused to the point of breaking. Sweat lines her brow; she feels paralyzed under the weight of a knowing gaze on her back, unable to turn, unable to _move._ Fear, in its most basic form, grips her to her very core. Rey closes her eyes, inhales, deeply--

 

_There._

 

A mass of charcoal fabric lies before her on the ground; tattered and worn down, heavy with the scent of despair. Red stains the lining of the fabric, the unmended, split hems, and as she reaches out to grasp hold of the well-worn greatcoat, she feels an inexplicable urge to cry.

 

The breath of something _truly_ surreal echoes in her ear--

 

“Rey.”

 

She sits up.

 

Finn’s hands are on her shoulders, holding her steady and helping her to sit forward. His eyes are wide and dark and filled with an unbearable _worry._ When she takes a closer look she can see that his hands are shaking; it’s obvious in this moment more than ever before, and as he opens his mouth to ask whether she’s okay, her arms wrap tight about his back, tugging him into a desperate, fervent _hug._

 

“I saw it.” She says, trying to catch her breath. “I saw…”

 

“I know.” Finn tells her, the reassuring weight of his body warming her to her center, reminding her that in spite of the galaxy’s darkness, there will always be _light_ as well. He’s _frightened,_ just as much as she is, a concerned frown on his visage, and Rey thinks that she’d do anything to keep him from frowning again. Though he won’t admit it allowed, he’s terrified-- but not of the future, nor of the enemy.

 

_He’s terrified because he could lose his friends. He’s anxious that he won’t be able to protect us, help us, defend us against that… thing. He fears that we’re going to die; not him, but me, and Poe and Leia..._

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she reassures him, pressing her face into his shoulder. _“Finn,_ by the stars. We’re going to fix this… it won’t…”

 

“Shh, shh,” Finn hushes her, pressing his lips to her forehead. Rey’s hair tickles his lips, and he kisses her again, his arms solid as they cling to her body, as though she’ll slip from his grasp if he lets go for even a second. _Perhaps she would,_ he thinks, shutting his eyes, _lost to the endless array of force visions that she’s so often privy to._ “It’s alright, Rey. I felt it too. That… _thing--”_ he bites his lip, turning the words over on his tongue, reconsidering. “ _Hux._ Or-- what _used_ to be Hux.”

 

“He’s disappeared.” Rey responds, her teeth biting at her lower lip, eyelids fluttering as she continues with trepidation. “I… I could see a palace. A cave, beneath the surface of a planet… the creature was there. _Xenomorph.”_

 

Finn’s fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, voice muffled as he turns his head. He looks to the empty archway of the door, the light of the morning sun trailing in from outside, reflecting on the floor with brilliant shades of orange and red. It’s almost like some type of omen.

 

“We need to figure out what it wants.”

 

* * *

 

 

Armitage smiles in delight as a Drone digs its claws into the viscous resin cocooning the dead officer’s body.

 

The corpse isn’t yet decomposed, though his face is half-melted off, holes shorn through soft skin to expose a mess of red and white and _black_ inside; still soft, still malleable and _warm-blooded,_ and oh, he can feel it, his brood is _so hungry._ His chest is gaping, split down the center where the last of his children had burst from the human’s concave chest, its emergence leaving a revolting mixture of acid and guts across the ground.

 

Hux stands from where he’s seated himself atop the shrouded mess of mangled bodies, cooing to the newest of their Hive with an outstretched hand. The black claws which have taken the place of his fingertips tease along the chestburster’s bloody coil, trailing his hand over its shapeless back before pressing a finger between the two rows of sharp incisors that line its mouth. The chestburster squeals and sinks its teeth into his flesh, apparently pleased with the black blood that seeps out of Armitage’s torn skin as it continues to suckle. Armitage anchors the creature around his arm, amused by the way his newest clings to his body, not yet ready to molt.

 

“Careful, brood. Mother doesn’t want to be sucked dry.” He warns the twitching creature, raising his hand to allow his vulnerable young a place to nuzzle his pallid throat, humming once the edge of its front makes contact with his skin. “Have to be good for the hive, have to be a good Drone for us, sweetling. Queens can’t do everything on their own, that would defeat the purpose of the hierarchy…”

 

Armitage steps around the resin shell at his feet, presses idly at another unmolted cocoon with his foot. A displeased frown crosses his face as he appraises the situation thus far; he grits his teeth and continues his communal speech.

 

“... the galaxy, which has failed to understand Our reach and purpose, oh, yes, they are terrible philistines, aren’t they? Distancing themselves from the only true means of obtaining power, obtaining… _Order._ It becomes so exhausting to deal with failures… failed experiments. XX-one-two-one was perfect. XX-one-two-one was Alpha, the beginning… and it is _gone._ Our lessers _stole_ it away, _took him from me,_ how dare they assume their power is equal to the Hive? How _dare_ they choose to disobey my command…!”

 

The Empress twists his face into an expression of sheer, unveiled disgust, long, rigid spines along his back flaring and extending and flattening to his skin once more, bristling with the force of his enmity.

 

The Hive cries out with sorrow.

 

Too long has Hux been separated from his Mate. Too long has he been forced to dwell _here,_ idle, seemingly incapable of returning Xenomorph Prime to its former glory. The world is strong with soft, vibrating tremors, elegant buzzing and static, a _true kingdom_ for the Hive’s continuation, a _paradise_ that would grow into an Empire.

_perfectlovelybeautiful everythingieverneeded everwanted_

 

_exaltationpenanceascendance ..._

 

_whereishe whereismymate_

 

_whereISMATE_

_wewillDEVOUR_

_wewillRAZE_

_wewillKILL_

 

 _ifheisnot_ **_returned_ **

 

_my needs are d i v i n e_

  _my needs are transcendent_

 

_A B O V E  A L L  E L S E_

 

His thoughts halt suddenly, just as soon as they’d first begun; a presence lingers nearby, offering solace amidst the extending chaos of the universe. Armitage breathes in, sharply; he can sense the _longing,_ as apparent as his own desire…

 

He _needs_ her.

 

Armitage relaxes into the familiar comfort of a long tail hooking around his side, of teeth in his flesh and a numbness in his legs as his body grows pliant to accommodate the touch.  His head lolls to one side, his thighs parting from each other, legs twitching with anticipation as his own tail makes an attempt to entwine with that of the Queen’s, large and overwhelming and _dominant_ as she is.

 

_pleaseQueenhaveme_

 

_MategoneQueenhaveme_

  _needbroodmissbroodmissMate_

 

**_warmheresafehere_ **

**_safesafewithHIVEoursoursours_ **

 

**_preciousHOSTpreciousEmpress_ **

**_perfectArmitageperfectMate_ **

  


_“Have me.”_

 

Her tail whips sharply against Hux’s flesh, squeezing tight about the narrow divot of his hips, the spines lining the black appendage digging into his skin whenever he so much as shifts. Black ichor seeps out of him, familiar as ever, painting trails of ink along the sheer white of his fragile skin. Armitage _hisses_ as his head is turned, to the side, his mouth sliding open to accommodate the Queen’s own within the hollow of his throat. His physiological reflexes have long since become accustomed to this type of stimulation-- and mutilation. She is sinking her claws into his flesh, her carapace solid against his head as the large, ever-present mass of her ovipositor presses insistently at his own sheathe, eager to rekindle a bond, to anoint his body with the guidance of the Hive’s sacriment.

 

She is not his Mate, but she is one of the Hive; his pain bleeds into her shell, beneath the sleek pitch barbs of her skin and the gape of her maw. She presses closer still, comforting him with the massive shield of her royal figure, so impossibly grand in comparison to Armitage’s hybrid vessel. His body has nearly readied itself just by their proximity; slick fluid coats the inside of his thighs, drips from his hole and dribbles out from between his lips. His insides are alight with flame, warmed to his very core and _burning_ with the bubbling acid that sustains his body. Hux wonders, vaguely, whether his secretions are just as caustic as his blood, whether he's so inhuman he can no longer even attempt to function in the same manner as a his origin species.

 

She pushes inside and Armitage _cries._

 

_please please please_

 

_makeitstop makeitgood makemescream_

 

 _mategone belongtohive_ _mateGONE_ _PLEASE_

 

The Queen clicks reassuringly into his throat, and Hux moans around her, unsteady with the lascivious desires his body has begun to crave; he seizes within her grip, shaking hands scrabbling at her arms, desperate for stability as his flesh splits and his very soul is bared underneath the will of the Hive.

 

This is his role-- his _position_ as the Hive’s empress, providing order and satiation and solidarity among all of his beloved kin, all of his brood. He can see the protrusion of her within his belly, can feel the swarm of _agreement_ and _devotion_ within his blood as she gathers him to her and drags her claws over his spines, making a home for her eggs within his Hosting womb, the sacrilege of their union just as bold and brilliant as it ever was.

 

Armitage cannot imagine being anywhere but here, cannot imagine living without the _Hive,_ returning to his mundane, uncivilized life as a mere human. He craves his mate as he craves his Queen, longs for their blood inside his own, their brood in his womb. Even now, his Warriors reign terror over worlds far from here, corrupting the galaxy and demolishing the remains of the unnecessary factions which remain; Republic and First Order alike will stand no more. Their civilization is greater, and Armitage alone will be the one to bring the universe into a new state of being, an… advanced existence. An imperious system.

 

He was always meant to rule, after all.

 

* * *

 

Phasma does not feel fear. She hasn’t felt much of anything for a long time; no, she covets action more than emotion, keeps her thoughts to herself as a means of fueling her strength. Fear was something that had been removed from her personnage long ago, ever since she’d stood over the bloodied bodies of her kin, since she’d joined the hierarchy of the First Order.

 

But now, watching the movements of the pacing, furious monstrosity that was once her ally-- perhaps even her friend-- she feels an overwhelming sense of dread.

 

She’s always cared for Armitage to some degree; perhaps even pitied him, once, when they were both much younger, both in a different time. In this moment, she finds herself distantly longing for that previous camaraderie, wishing, almost, that Armitage were still the uncertain, manipulative boy she’d once known, filled to the brim with anger and insecurities.

 

He’d been interesting, in his own way, though far more _predictable._ Even Kylo Ren had seen something of worth in the General during the years they’d fought over Snoke’s favor, or so he’d implied. Here, in this room, however, Phasma can see the glint of a tumultuous bitterness reflected in the Knight’s eyes. She wonders if he will cry; then, considers. No, he never does; he will rampage instead, raze to the ground that which stands to spite him once he is finally provoked.

 

“We have something that we want,” Hux finally speaks, the whiplike length of his tail smacking against the ground, the spines along his back extending in full. He’s grown even more hybrid since he’d last disappeared; something about the form is almost beautiful, unnerving though it may be. Phasma says nothing as he turns his head, looks at them both with mania in his eyes. “There is a weapon, hidden in the unknown regions of the galaxy, past Xenomorph Prime; I can sense my Mate again, at long last. The Hive compels us-- my Queens can only do so much damage from their current location. Were you to retrieve this weapon… we may at long last obliterate the Republic. And the remains of this… weak Imperial _fragment_ that my father indulged.”

 

“Hux, is that really the best idea--?” Phasma nearly says, then, biting her tongue, refrains from speaking further. She knows when her power is unmatched; her eyes flit to Kylo once more. He is biting his tongue, surely seething behind his seeming stoicism in this moment. He will lash out later, and their mission, she is sure, will be a bloody one; between her and the force-user, there would be no survivors if anyone were to cross their paths.

 

“I disagree with your methods,” Kylo voices, at long last. “But we will retrieve the weapon. Whatever the cost.”


End file.
